


Wicked Games

by antiparallel



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Modeling, Nude Modeling, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiparallel/pseuds/antiparallel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World-renowned photographer Dylan Massett hates the rich and famous, but that all changes when he accidentally discovers runaway heiress Emma Decody caught in a revealing situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> Dylan is 23 and Emma is 18 like in the show. Next chapter will be posted soon!

She was as beautiful as everyone said.

Maybe more so.

Dylan Massett adjusted the focus of his camera lens to center on her face. Her brows were furrowed in concern as she glanced behind her, to the left, to the right, and then back. Her privacy secured, she slowly dropped the full-length white bathrobe down the length of her body.

She was completely naked underneath.

Dylan's breath caught in his throat. He almost lost his grip as the camera slipped from his hands. It was enough to jolt him into remembering why he was there in the first place. He quickly snapped a series of pictures as she eased herself into the bubbling water of the outdoor hot tub. 

Eyes closed, a slow smile refined her features as the heat seemed to take full effect. He snapped away, feeling like a pervert. But then, that was his job: to capture people in their natural state, to report the news as it happened. And Emma Decody was news. Yet something inside him curled away in distaste for this particular assignment, no matter how much money was involved, no matter how desperately he needed it.

She shifted slightly in the water. Her breasts bobbed into view, her nipples pink and pouting. His body responded to her like a match to a flame. He felt the unexpected tightness in his jeans and shifted his position to ease the pressure. This was ridiculous! He'd seen naked women in his life before, and he'd always viewed them as nothing but mere objects. Work women and past relationships were always kept at different sides in his mind. Why was this girl any different?

The fact that he'd been out of the country for the last three years could account for some of his sudden reaction. Long-term relationships were hard to come by in Third World countries, and he'd never been the type to have one-night stands. He made a derogatory sound to himself, and snapped a few extra shots for good measure.

She stood in the water, a full frontal view that cast all his rationalizations to the wind. The sight of her standing like a goddess in the middle of a $10,000 hot tub set the pulse in his temples pounding like a hammer. That, and the atrocious proof that the wild honey brown hair on her head was absolutely, positively, undeniably, and irrevocably natural.

Two more shots was all he had time for before she wrapped the bathrobe around herself and slipped into the matching slippers. In an instant, she was gone, off through the door of her family's villa nestled in the heart of the mountain behind an exclusive, private ski resort in Connecticut. 

Dylan lowered the camera from his face. He was soaked in perspiration despite the cool March breeze. Thank God, he'd gotten some good shots today. Judging from his body’s reaction to her, he’d best be on his way before they ever had a chance to meet face-to-face. That kind of complication was something he definitely did not need in his life right now.

He’d call Elijah and tell him what he had. It should be enough. Nude photographs would sell for millions of dollars. He could see Elijah’s gleeful grin in his mind’s eye and shivered. So much for the mentality of the national tabloids. Let them pay him his money so he could get the hell out of here and stop teasing fate.

Fate was his reason for being here in the first place. His next foray was Mexico, and to counter the unbearable heat he was about to endure, Dylan had planned to rest up at an inexpensive ski resort. But the moment he’d stepped onto the transport van at the airport, his reporter’s instinct had kicked in. 

She had been sitting alone in the back of the van. He had noticed her when they’d boarded, of course. Even completely wrapped up in hat, gloves, scarf and sunglasses, she had “class” written all over her. He’d ignored her through most of the ride, hardly wondering who she was or why she seemed to be hiding herself away. But then, that old hand fate had reached out and touched him in the guise of a three-year-old boy who couldn't sit still. The toddler had wriggled out of his mother’s grasp only to grab the cashmere hat off the classy girl’s head.

If the wild honey brown hair that tumbled free hadn't been a dead giveaway, then her overly distraught reaction to the incident had. Someone else might have brushed it off. She hadn't, and the question as to why hung heavily in the air. So naturally, he’d missed his stop and followed her all the way to the end of the line. He’d told himself she might be nothing more than a shy, reclusive wallflower, but then again, she might not…

A quick call from the lobby of her very exclusive resort to his tabloid-editor friend, Elijah Weber, had more than satisfied his overbearing curiosity. Emma Decody, a notorious, jet-setting heiress, had run out on her impending arranged marriage. It had been reported that she’d been spotted in the Caribbean, but Dylan – and now Elijah – knew better. Elijah had spared no detail while filling Dylan in on the lady’s notorious past romantic escapades. According to Elijah, Ms. Decody was a love ‘em and leave ‘em girl who had left a trail of lovers in her wake.

Suddenly Dylan’s inexpensive little rest took on a new dimension when Elijah’s paper offered to pick up the tab for him to stay on her trail as long as it took for him to capture her on film. Ms. Decody, however, had proved stubborn and uncooperative. She’d spent her first few days in isolation, and Dylan had been unable to photograph her at all.

That was, until today.

Dylan checked the film and disassembled the lens from the camera. So be it. His job was done. Packing his equipment, his mind was already racing on to his next project. A Mexican drug lord had escaped from prison…and no one, not even the major television networks, was covering it.

With the budget-slashing of the past few years, most of the foreign news bureaus had been forced to endure massive cut backs in staff or complete closings. This left the field wide open for free-lance photojournalists like himself. With little more than his equipment and a duffel bag, he could travel at will, documenting what was going on with firsthand knowledge.

Over time, Dylan had cemented a reputation for himself as an honest, straightforward reporter. His pictures had graced the insides and covers of all the major national newspapers and magazines. It was a world he knew inside out and loved…and couldn't wait to get back into.

He slung the camera bag over his shoulder and removed himself from his hiding position. The ache in his right shoulder reminded him of the other reason he was here. On his last assignment he’d caught some shrapnel in his right shoulder blade after covering a minor falling out in Iraq. What he’d originally thought of as a nuisance would had incapacitated him to the point where he couldn't return to his work without major rehabilitation. It still wasn't fully healed, as Elijah loved to remind him, and had kept him stateside longer than he’d anticipated.

And a lot longer than his budget allowed. He was broke, and without a stipend to get him started on his next assignment, he was all but lost. As much as the editors loved his work, they didn't finance it. There, he was on his own. He needed money to pay for his next expedition. If he didn't leave soon, the story would be a mere footnote in history. Hence the appeal of the quick cash for exclusive tabloid photos of Emma Decody.

Dylan smirked as he made his way back to the main chalet. Emma Decody, only child of the media-hound billionaire William Decody. Wall Street had dubbed him “Heartless Will,” which, considering the source, added insult to injury. Decody owned a good proportion of the real estate in seven major cities…and made sure everyone knew it. You couldn't pick up a newspaper or go online and not find his picture or a story somewhere about him.

Dylan had little to no respect for the man. He had made his money the hard way, and for that he could give Decody credit, but the way the man chose to live his life left a bad taste in Dylan’s mouth. He knew William Decody. Not personally, but he had intimate knowledge of most men like him. His father for instance. John Massett had not been as money hungry as Will, but he had been as media hungry. Dylan had lived his entire life in the shadow of an obsessively competitive businessman who was never satisfied…not by the amount of money he had, not by the different women in his life…not even his own son.


End file.
